The Blade Is My BestFriend

I’m scared of forgetting. Forgetting what you mean to me. Forgetting the good moments and the bad. Forgetting what you feel like. Forgetting the exact shade of your eyes (they’re blue. In the mornings when you just wake up, you can see they’re this beautiful, ocean blue, and usually, they’re an icy blue gray). Forgetting your voice. Forgetting what you look like. Forgetting taking care of you. Forgetting waking up and falling asleep with you next to me. Forgetting everything.

My mom tells me that I have to try and stop myself from thinking about you, but blocking you means I’ll forget. I never want to forget you, ever. I’m scared everything will fade, but I thought I would have had more time with you, 10 months is nothing. I didn’t expect for forever, but I expected so much more than just those 10 months. I’m not saying it wasn’t worth it, every single second I spent with you was worth it. I didn’t realize how valuable time was until now. 

I feel so guilty for not being there for you, I missed your birthday, and now you’ve missed mine. You missed my birthday because you weren’t here anymore, but I missed your birthday because I couldn’t make it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

I feel like I didn’t tell you enough when you were here that I love you, I feel guilty about that. I feel guilty for a lot of things. It’s too late now. If I had another chance, that’s really all I want, I would do so much differently, but it’s too late now. 

I miss you, I miss you so much. I wish you were here with me, like you’re supposed to be. I’m not ready to accept the fact that you’re not. Why did it have to be you? 

No Shame November

I want someone to care enough to ask me to stop cutting not to just say that they’re here for me.

No Shame November

Why does she care? I’m a rotten best friend. I don’t deserve someone like her to care if I live or die. She is going through so much, and I never ask her about any of it. I just rant and rant about myself. I put her in a situation of having to keep my secrets when my secrets are life threatening. I tell her things, like how if she told anyone I’d lie my way out of treatment. I’m a terrible person. But she cares about me. I don’t know why. I don’t deserve it. She shouldn’t be wasting her time being my friend when all I do is ignore her.

But she’s been so helpful to me. She’s like my sister. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s the reason I didn’t start cutting sooner. She’s the reason that I’m still here. She’s the reason that a few months ago I was going to tell my mom and get treatment. She’s the reason that a few months ago I wanted to try.

But now I’m done trying. I’m done wanting to get better. She shouldn’t still be by my side. I’m not going to get better. I’ve told her that. I’ve told her I’m done wanting help. But she still fucking cares. I don’t know why. I’m a lost cause. I’m not worth caring about anymore.

I wish I could continue to try for her, because she is like my sister and I hate doing this to her, but I’ve tried and tried and it’s got me nowhere.

I’m scared that I’ll forget what happened. I’m scared that I’ll remember what happened. I’m scared that I’ll never be able to get close to a guy because one guy decided that he wanted to go all the way when I didn’t. I’m scared that at some point of any day, I’ll sit there and my mind will wander and I’ll just burst out into tears and then I won’t have the strength to tell anyone what happened or why i’m crying. I’m scared that eventually I’ll get over it until I actually get to the moment where I want to become intimate with guy and even though I want it so badly, I’ll just cry and then he’ll think there’s something wrong with us. I’m scared that instead of being able to move on and stop cutting because of how I’m haunted from every aspect of my past, that I’m going to keep cutting until the day I die. I’m scared that I’ll have kids and they’ll ask what the scars are and I won’t be able to tell them without crying. But most of all, I’m scared that no matter what, my past and my life will scare away every guy that I ever would want in my life.

I’m scared that I’ll forget what happened. I’m scared that I’ll remember what happened. I’m scared that I’ll never be able to get close to a guy because one guy decided that he wanted to go all the way when I didn’t. I’m scared that at some point of any day, I’ll sit there and my mind will wander and I’ll just burst out into tears and then I won’t have the strength to tell anyone what happened or why i’m crying. I’m scared that eventually I’ll get over it until I actually get to the moment where I want to become intimate with guy and even though I want it so badly, I’ll just cry and then he’ll think there’s something wrong with us. I’m scared that instead of being able to move on and stop cutting because of how I’m haunted from every aspect of my past, that I’m going to keep cutting until the day I die. I’m scared that I’ll have kids and they’ll ask what the scars are and I won’t be able to tell them without crying. But most of all, I’m scared that no matter what, my past and my life will scare away every guy that I ever would want in my life.

No Shame November

I feel so guilty for doing it. I mean, I read all the other stories and compared to mine, I’m so lucky. I have this amazing family, and friends, and I go to a great school and live a good life. And the only reason I don’t even consider suicide is because of my family. The thing is, I feel empty and so fucking alone. It’s hard to explain, like the words won’t come to me but it hurts, the emptiness. Sometimes I am numb but not all the time. If I’m not numb, I’m empty which hurts even more. So I cut. To feel something other than this jumble of feelings that I can’t understand. And I feel so weak. Because for all my life I’ve been so happy and then BAM I hit teenage-hood and I can’t take it. I can’t handle it like everyone else so I have to self harm.  And you know what the funny thing is? I don’t even hate myself. I mean, I do put myself down every once in a while but I don’t cut because me hating myself. I cut because I’m alone and I’m drowning but no one hears me screaming for help. No one knows. I wear bracelets and no one asks questions. It’s wierd, how differently you see things once you’ve done it. No one ever asks are you ok? and when you answer fine, they insist. No one asks someone else for their problems, they’re always trying to talk about theirs. I read this quote :”The nicest people are always the saddest.” That’s true. A friend saw my scars and asked me if I cut myself. I said the cat scratched me. She believed it. …but I don’t want ANYONE to know. First of all, it would break my family’s heart and second, they would take away the only way I can prove I’m alive inside. 

But you know what I want to do? I want to go to some isolated mountain somewhere with fresh air and a beautiful view and just scream. Scream because it hurts. Scream because it makes no sound. Scream because in June, even though it seems so far away, I was happy. SCREAM BECAUSE IT FUCKING HURTS

No Shame November

People never expect me to the the “depressed emo girl”. I really hate that title. But I know that people will call me that if they knew. Everytime i see people from my old school, i rush past them because i’m so petrified that they’re going to elbow me in the face again or call me a slut or anything. And now that i’ve cut alot.. i hate talking about stuff like that.

Usually, i have terrible days and when i do, i will just whisper kill me now, or telling myself to stop repeatedly because i get flashbacks from the past that are like when i was let drop while coming down from the rock wall until i was seconds from the ground or when i got elbowed in the face purposely when trying to get through the class door and shit like that. I hate when people who hurt me act like the victim and try to turn my world upside down, it just makes me want to cut more. Some people think they know my whole life but no body knows that i hate the scars i have, my whole one forearms is completely covered but the worst part is i still love cutting. Not to mention i hate the haters that fuck me over and the people who think they are better thaan me and the fake ass people who hurt me. I just hate life.

i just want to find the big razor blades or buy a shitload of pills and fucking DIE. just.. die..

I’m sitting here with twelve fresh cuts on my leg. They sting a little, just enough for me to feel them and know that I’m alive. I’m alive. It’s weird to think about being alive. I don’t feel alive. I haven’t felt alive in a very long time. I feel like I’m more of an observer sitting on the outside of life just waiting for someone to take notice of me. But even when someone notices me, I push them away. As much as I want someone to notice, it’s also the last thing I want. I don’t want to stop living the way that I am living, but I also want too stop living this way. It’s very confusing. I don’t understand my way of thinking. One day I want someone to notice me, and the next day I’m begging that no one will notice me.

I guess, it’s better to not be noticed, because then you don’t have to deal with your problems. I don’t want to deal with my problems. I’m fine living this half alive life that I’m living. I’m fine with this destructive routine that I live. It’s almost like a safe routine. I always know what is going to happen next. I starve, then I binge, then I cut, then I curl in a ball and want to die, then I start all over again. There are no surprises. Nothing unexpected around the corner. It’s the same routine day after day. A few curve balls have been thrown towards my routine, but they’re easily taken care of. Some days, I wish they weren’t so easily taken care of, because some days I do want to stop this routine. But this routine is my safe zone.

I don’t know when I started thinking of this routine as a “safe zone”, but that’s what it has become. I know if nothing is going right in my life than I can turn to this routine and I will forget about everything and focus all my energy on either starving or binging. It’s better then the alternative, anyways.

My list of people that would care about me if the truth came out is slowly getting shorter. I don’t really know what to do. I can think of one person that truly cares, and I keep making up reasons of why she doesn’t care.

I keep thinking about what will happen when/if I convince myself that she or anybody really doesn’t care about me. Not too long ago I didn’t think I’d make it too my seventeenth birthday in February and now I’m beginning to think that again. I wish I wasn’t. I try to push it out of my thoughts, but every time it finds a way back into my thoughts.

I’d like to think that I’m stronger then that. But I also thought I was stronger then the urge to cut, and look where that’s got me.

And what do I have to live for? I can think of only one person that truly cares, but I’m trying to think of any reason to make myself believe that she doesn’t care. I can’t see myself ever seeking help to stop this routine, because I don’t want to leave this safe pattern. And this “safe pattern” isn’t much of a life, I know that, but I can’t stop it. Without I’m nothing. Without it I’d die. I need this pattern to put order in my life. I need to starve, binge, cut. I can’t stop it. Even if I wanted too, I couldn’t stop it. I’ve tried and I will always go back to it.

I think I was molested as a child. But I dont remember it. I just remember constantly trying to run away from home, and feeling uncomfortable around men. I’m still uncomfortable around a lot of guys when I’m alone with them. I’ve been cutting for 4 years, my life is falling apart. I’m starting to drink more and more, some nights I barley sleep, Sometimes I sleep most of the day. It’s hard to smile. I take my bad moods out on my friends, And I hate it. I hate being home. I hate being at school. Being around friends is getting hard. My teachers are starting to notice something is wrong.

I’m giving up.

I’m letting go.

You see me. Im happy on the outside. Talking. Laughing. Being weird. Look a little closer darling, my smile is cracking. The shine is leaving my eyes. My arms are shaky. My eyes distant and faded. I hate myself. The people around me. Everything. But mainly me. Im not living up to the expectations given to me. Im failing everyone, especially myself. Im drowning slowly in my failures. I used to cry crimson streams, but now its just dried up tears. Pent up behind my fake smile. I break down every day with everything overwhelming me. Im close to breaking. What I want so bad, I cant have. People say their helping me, when in actuality, their making it worse. Tearing me down, I laugh to please them, but Inside I die a little. Not even my “best friends” can see how Im slowly dying on the inside. everything is tearing me apart. Little things, big things, anything. Tearing me down, apart, every which way.
Fighting, arguing, yelling, everything is breaking me down. The stress, sadness, failure, disappointment, low self esteem, no motivation. I hate it all, my only escape is taken away. I cant cope..
I want to break down, but then people leave or smother me. I just want a hug and someone telling me its okay. Then maybe I can attempt to help others.
No shame November, here’s to you 

I’m hurting, too. Can’t you all see that? The smile I wear is forced and fake. The light behind my eyes is going out. And no one notices.

I have all these good things in my life, but there still isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about just hanging myself from the rack in my closet, or slicing myself open so deep they can’t fix me, or just taking too many pills. It’s not like they’d be hard to come by. My mom takes so many different medications, my house may as well be a damn pharmacy.

Then there’s the times I feel worthless. How I can meet this great guy and fall so in love, and then just watch as he walks away and leaves me for someone else. And then comes the picking myself apart. I’m not pretty enough, or smart enough, or clever enough, or just enough. I just think and think and think and pick out every flaw I have and try to think of ways to fix them. And then when I can’t think of a way to make myself better, I just feel myself drowning in that self-pity, and that makes me feel terrible. I don’t want sympathy or pity or anything like that.

I just want to be loved. I am so desperate for that feeling of having someone care about you more than anyone else. I want someone to kiss and cuddle with and to whisper “I love you” to. And now I have that. I have this great boyfriend, and the future is spread before us, and anything could happen. But even with that, it’s hard not to still feel sad all the time. To not feel worthless. To not want to slice myself open.

Even with all the best things a person could have, I’m still unhappy. And that just makes me feel even worse. There are people in the world with so much less than me, and who don’t have family or friends or anything I take for granted. And here I am, throwing myself a continuous pity-party and going on about how my life sucks.

But that’s the thing really. No matter how much anyone tells you things could be worse, it doesn’t make your problems feel any less significant.

No Shame Novemeber

I look happy, Don’t I? A lot of people think I do. But I’m not. Not even close. I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t even remember what happiness is like. 

My parents are separated. They have been since before I was born. I’ve always wanted a happy little family and not a pussy for a father. I can honestly say that I’m glad he’s out of my life.  When I was little, I have night terrors. I would cry and scream and thrash around in my bed. That started when I was about four. It stopped a year or so later. When I was five, my mom bought a house. Which was hard for a single mother. There were a lot of nights we didn’t eat. When I was six, I was molested by a boy in my neighborhood. It took me until I was twelve to realize what had actually happened. So many people think I’m lying. And sometimes I doubt myself that it happened. I can’t tell my mom. She would just hit me. After all, it would be my fault. Being so slutty at such a young age. I was always her scapegoat. I’ve been dragged through my house by my hair, locked outside in the middle of winter, thrown into walls. I could always take that. The verbal abuse it much worse. The only time she has ever said anything positive about me was when she went with me to apply for a job. She said I was hard working. But that was just to get me out of the house. This woman has caused me so much pain. I cut myself, I starve myself, and my night terrors have returned worse than ever. I now cut myself in my sleep. That is, If I can sleep. I can’t look in the mirror anymore. Because every word she has ever said to me repeats in my head. “fat, ugly, failure, worthless shit”. Oh and I have no friends. No true friends who know about me. The real me. All of my “guy friends” molest me on a daily basis. They don’t realize what they’re doing, but it hurt me. And I can’t fight back or stand up for myself. I’ve tried. And it makes people hate me. The only thing I’ve ever wanted in life is to be happy. And to be loved. And I’ll keep wishing until it happens. 

No shame November

I hate myself. And everything about myself. I hate the way my arm joins my hand. How my leg joins my hip. Every single minute detail. But then there’s this one part of beauty that shines through the horror. My piercing blue eyes. And that’s it.

I had this one boyfriend. He was amazing. Perfect for me. And I never imagined the end, I couldn’t even think of it. And then it ended, and my world fell down. He was the only person I had, even if his life was easy and he didn’t get me, he was still mine. And I ruined it due to being too scared, fear fucked me up. And I’m still incredibly hungover, 6 months later, and even when the most amazing boy asked me out, I couldn’t do it because I wasn’t over that jackass.

I’m a terrible child. Of a broken family, with one parent funding all of us, she does so much, and I’m such a bitch, I don’t deserve her. And I know that but I still can’t deal with being nice to her, genuinely nice to her all the time. And she’s messed up from the stress, I can deal with lots of shitty things such as my father being shot but I cannot deal with watching my mother, my pillar of strength, breaking down, and having panic attacks.

Sometimes I wished that I was one of those rich snobby girls with the perfect lives. Even if I had to spread my legs a little to get the boys, at least I’d be loved. So Yeah, that’s me. Pretty average eh? **No Shame November**

If happiness runs in the family well then I’m screwed. I grew up with parents who cheated on each other, eventually my Father’s rage got too much and he started abusing my mother. I found a suicide note in my mother’s drawer. My older sister couldn’t take it anymore, the lies and abuse she left home, ran away, left me with all the responsibilty. I hate her now. She decided to leave home and my mother couldn’t deal with this. She attempted suicide twice…